ROMAN: Fury of Her King (Kings of the Blood Book 2)

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DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names,characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product ofthe author’s imagination or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance toactual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

NOTICE: This is an adult erotic paranormal romance with lovescenes and mature situations. It is only intended for adult readers over theage of 18.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Edited by Lisa Miller, Angel Editing Services

Proofread by Tammy Payne with Book Nook Nuts

Cover Designed by Linda Boulanger with Tell Tale BookCovers

Cover Model Christian Petrovich

Photographer Eric David Battershell with Eric BattershellPhotography

Formatted by Charlene Bauer with Wickedly Bold Creations

DEDICATION

Dare to Dream! Find the Strength to Act!Never Look Back!

Thank you, God.

To my girls, Liz and Em, I Love You. Everyday, every way, always.

To Kelli Smith, thank you for pushing meto continue in this amazing world of the Kings!

Staring at the stars in the cloudless sky above, only the warmthof his own life’s essence flowing freely from his gaping chest wound to warmhim against the cruelty of the desert after nightfall, the mighty Generalprayed for the sweet release of death. The rattle of his own labored breathingcounted down the moments until he would join his beloved family on the shoresof the Elysian Fields. The stench and sting of betrayal was all that forced hisfailing heart to continue to beat as the sounds of frivolity from the traitor’scamp tainted an otherwise peaceful evening, which was to be his last.

Scenes of battles long past floated through his mind…a litany tohis legacy. Romanus the Warrior, man of prophecy, leader of the downtrodden.The man who sprung from the womb with a spear in one hand and a shield in theother. Victory after victory in his long illustrious years of devoted serviceall fought in the name of his homeland, all for the people he sought to free,were there to usher him into the afterlife. There was not a memory to be foundthat did not center around the blood of the unrighteous staining his blade orthe shouts of war ringing in his ears. His dry, cracked lips curved into thesmallest of smiles as he remembered how the mere mention of his name struckfear in the hearts of those who stood against the great Grecian army.

Then came the recollection of his most recent crusade. Cruel andbrutal in its unabashed recount of every detail of the bloodbath he and histroops suffered at the hands of the enemy within. The perfectly planned ambushsprang up just seconds after the Persians aimed their spears and drew theirbowstrings. Those he had thought comrades, the men he had trained, had foughtalongside, had in some cases pulled from the jaws of death, turned their backson Romanus and the few hundred hoplite who remained loyal to him and theirbeloved Greece. In the blink of an eye they were fighting a war on two fronts,outmanned and attempting to regroup with a third of their original force, theGrecians suffered massive casualties at the point of the spears held by friendsand family before the first Persian arrow flew.

He should have seen it coming. The tides of change were upon thelegendary army. The wounds of the loss of their dear Supreme Commander totreachery and deceit within the government were still festering among theranks. The years since his death and the continued corruption had only servedto blacken the hearts of many good men. Seeing one so revered, so loved, soloyal to each man, woman, and child of every city-state stripped of hisidentity and left to die the foulest of deaths was a betrayal many could nottolerate. Their ranks had dwindled to minimal numbers. Those they had foughtalongside they now fought against. Cruel were the hands of fate, but through itall Romanus believed those who remained by his side were faithful and true. Hismiscalculation of events resulted in not only the spear that protruded from hischest and the gaping wound in his side but the death of five thousand loyalcitizen-soldiers.

Visions of the bodies still littering the battlefield, leftlike skoupídia for the vermin, swam in and out of focus as his head, now tooheavy to stay upright, fell to the side. His feet and legs itched from thedried blood of the fallen where it had caked upon the leather of his caligaeand coated the metal of the greaves meant to protect his shins.

He knew they had fought valiantly, had attempted to push back theenemy and slay the traitors, but it simply was not meant to be. The lifeessence of so many soaked the ground as if it were rain from the heavens, whilehe and those few still devoted to their beloved Greece continued to fight,dispensing justice with their swords as if Zeus himself handled the blades.

But the King of the Gods was nowhere to be found; neither was hispetulant son. Romanus prayed repeatedly to Ares, the god of war. He begged andbargained, finally offering his mortal soul for the lives of the brave Greeksstill standing. To his utter despair, his pleas fell upon deaf ears. The hatefuldeity had turned his back on his loyal followers and left them as fodder fortheir foes.

Climbing over more bodies of the fallen to fight the advancinghordes, the mighty General called to the goddess of war and wisdom, “Sweetest,Artemis, show favor upon your chosen warriors. Smite those who would conniveand conspire to overthrow the justice of your most honored city.”

But again, his prayers went unanswered as the war raged on and thecarnage continued. Only his iron will and refusal to accept defeat kept Romanuson his feet. One foot in front of the other, another slash of his blade, moreblood and more death, the dead eyes of young men who had trusted him to leadthem to victory stared up at him from where they had been struck down by theirown brothers-in-arms.

Finally, the General was the only Grecian left standing.Surrounded by the enemy, he readied his sword against at least fifty men. Long,tense seconds ticked by as his heart beat like the thundering hooves of astallion. Looking into the faces of the Persians, he saw hatred. Staring intothe faces of those he had called brother, he saw sympathy.

“Don’t pity me, you soulless dogs. May you spend eternity intorment on the banks of the River Styx without an obolus to pay Charon for yourtreachery,” he spat, baiting them to attack. His need to put an end to thedamnable waiting outweighed all thoughts of self-preservation.

Still they did not attack. Opening his mouth to shout anotherinsult, Romanus instead spun to the right as the sound of approaching hoovesreached his ears. There, sitting atop his mount was Xenophanes, hishalf-brother and apparent leader of the prodités.

Xenophanes directed his stallion forward until the horse’s snoutalmost touched the General’s cheek, then leaning over the animal’s neck, therebel leader boasted, “I now command an army of five thousand and you, dearbrother, will die in the sand like the plebian you have always been.”

“Face me like a man, you coward. Dismount and face me, blade toblade,” Romanus shouted. Then narrowing his eyes and gritting his teeth, hegrowled, “Or are you afraid, dear brother?”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Romanus, you will not bait me into a fool’s fight.We all know who is superior with a blade. I have no qualm conceding that honorto you.” He chuckled sarcastically. “I will even have them bury you with it.”Turning his horse, the bastard son of Romanus’ father started back the way hecame then over his shoulder commanded, “Kill him and make it quick. I owe himthat at the very least.”

Before the General could respond he was engaged in the fight ofhis life against ten Grecian swordsmen he himself had trained. The Persians hadbacked away and stood cheering on his opposition. Steel clashed, sparks flew,more blood soaked the earth under his feet as one by one, Romanus cut thetraitors down.

At the count of fifteen dead, the General saw no end in sight. Asone conspirator hit the ground another took his place. The muscles of his armsand legs burned from the exertion. The weight of his sword seemed to double andthen triple. Sweat poured down his face, neck, and back, wetting his woolentunic and causing his hands to slip on the hilt of his sword.

Stumbling over the bodies of the dead while crossing blades withDaidalos, another of his former pupils, Romanus fell to one knee. Blocking thedefector’s downward strike by holding his sword over his head with one hand onthe hilt and the other on the blade, the impact shook the mighty General to hiscore as blood rained down on his face from the gash across his palm caused bythe razor-sharp edge of his weapon.

Rolling away to the side, Romanus was barely on his feet when thetraitor struck again...over and over, just as the General had trained him toattack. Romanus could do no more than defend against the masterful attack fromthe determined swordsman. Looking his foe in the eye, the General saw trueregret. It was then he knew these men, his men, had defected not because oftheir beliefs or convictions, but under coercion and—he imagined—threats tothose they loved.

He knew what had to be done. It had to end here. He would not killa mere child who was being forced to fight. A calm unlike any other filled hisbody. He nodded and smiled then dropped his sword to his side.

Another nod and Romanus answered, “Do what you must. I go to theElysian Fields with a clear conscience and light heart. It is you who must prayfrom your soul, dear boy.”

“But…” Daidolos’ words were lost as a large Persian pushed theyoung soldier to the ground and shoved his short spear through Romanus’ chestplate while sneering, “Die already, you Greek bastard.”

The sounds of cheers and laughter reached his ears as the mightyGrecian General crumpled to the ground. The last rays of his last day on earthglittered off the metal armor of the fallen as far as his eye could see. Helistened to the Persian’s exaggerated retelling of his victory. At least thecur was a good story teller for he was the poorest of warriors.

The sound of footsteps in the darkness floated on the wind,pulling the General from his musings. He immediately assumed the intruderapproaching over the far ridge opposite the enemy camp was one of the manybeggars who haunted the abandoned battlefields in order to pilfer from thefallen as a means of survival. Closer and closer, louder and louder, the soundsof stiff leather striking sand echoed through his mind like the beat of thedrum in the coliseum.

“Finally, the grim reaper has come to take me home.” He wheezedthe slurred words as the long shadow of a man covered his body a moment beforea voice he had been sure he would never hear again sadly chuckled, “Look whathas become of you in my absence, agapité fíle.”

“Commander?” Romanus rasped, sure he was seeing ghosts in the pastmoments of his life.

“Yes, Romanus, it is I.” Viktoras’ image blurred in and out offocus as he knelt at the General’s side.

“How can this be? Are you demon or are you specter?”

“I am neither, General. I am man, as I always was.” Viktoras didindeed sound as he had before his death, the steel of command coloring his toneeven as Romanus could feel the other man’s regret at the fate befallen him.

“This cannot be. I saw you dead. I lowered your broken bodyinto a hole in the earth and prayed for your soul’s release. Please torment meno more. Leave me to fade in peace. I have seen Zeus’ eagle in the sky and knowhe will return to carry my soul home.”

The vision of his Commander slowly shook its head. “You alwayswere the most stubborn of all my men, Romanus.” The specter pulled a knife fromunder his cloak and sliced across the palm of his hand. “Do I not bleed?”

Struggling to catch his breath, Romanus weakly nodded then gasped,“But…” Unable to complete his rebuttal as he spat blood at the ghost of his oldfriend, the General’s head rolled to the side. Shadows framed what was left ofhis vision as he strained to see what the memory of Viktoras would do next.

The specter placed his hands on either side of Romanus’ face andraised it from where it lay on the ground until their noses actually touched.Through gritted teeth, the ghost growled, “It is not your time, Romanus ofGreece. You have many battles left to fight. The time has come for you toembrace a new future. I know this is beyond all comprehension but be assured,all your questions will be answered when you revive anew, ready to live thelife befitting a warrior of your stature.”

“But…”

“Enough, Romanus,” the Supreme Commander’s likeness ordered. “Youhave remained loyal unto the end. You have been betrayed and left for dead.Yes, the life you have lived thus far will soon be forfeit, but you, greatwarrior, are destined for things only the gods have dreamt of. You have lostmuch blood. Your soul seeks the release only Zeus’ mighty eagle can provide. Iam going to remove this spear.” Viktoras touched the wooden shaft protruding fromthe General’s chest. “Your heart will cease to beat. Your lungs will no longerdraw breath. You will be buried here in the desert by my own hands.”

The Commander shifted as he spoke, looking over his shoulder withfury at the party raging in honor of Romanus’ death. Taking a deep breath, hecontinued, “Thirty days will come and go while your body rests and transforms.As the sun touches the horizon on the night of the thirty-first day, you shallrise. Your heart will again beat. Your lungs will again draw breath and you, myfriend and loyal General, will be made immortal. You will serve Zeus himself asa King of the Blood. You will serve a higher purpose. You will smite theenemies that mortals cannot, those who threaten the world so generously given tous by the gods. You will live in resurrection as you have lived in life—awarrior amongst the masses with a worth beyond measure.”